The morning after the Blood Moon felt wrong.
Everywhere was too quiet, too clean. Like the world was pretending nothing had happened.
The river that had once roared with battle now whispered softly around us. Smoke curled through the ruins of the forest. The ashes of what we’d lost still clung to the wind.
Ronan sat beside me, silent. His arm was wrapped protectively around my shoulders, but his hand trembled. I could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying.
I wasn’t cold.
I wasn’t warm either.
I was something else now.
The moon’s light still clung to my skin, faint but constant. My reflection in the river looked half-real, silver veins glowing faintly beneath the surface.
He hadn’t stopped looking at me since I came back.
Not once.
But it wasn’t adoration in his eyes anymore.
